Rising to his feet, Oliver gave her a low bow. “Then I wish you godspeed. I…”
But his voice broke over the words he wished to say. The things he ought not to speak. It did no good to tell her just how much he longed for the world to be different. How he wished there were no impediments between them. To speak such words now would only cause her more pain, so he swallowed them and allowed those unspoken declarations to fester inside.
What good did it do to tell her he felt like sitting beside her for the rest of his life? This was the end of it. He would not allow his actions to cause more harm.
With a final bow, Oliver strode away. He forced his shoulders upright, adopting a confident posture; perhaps if he acted the part, the sickening twist of his chest would ease. Time was all he needed—and to ignore the whispers in the back of his mind that told him this was a grave mistake. Before this wretched house party, Oliver had felt certain of his decision (or as certain as any man can feel when on the cusp of marrying), and that assuredness would return if he did not dwell on what could not be.
*
Stories were lies. Like the fairy tales and folklore of old, they were happy little tales spun to assure the audience that right always triumphs, wrong always fails, and those trapped in an unrequited love simply die of a broken heart. Sophie did not wish for such a grisly ending, but the pain of watching Mr. Kingsley give his final farewell was compounded by the thought that there was no relief to be found from it.
Time would ease it some, but Sophie would forever regret this loss.
Her chin trembled, and she sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she willed herself to hold fast to her composure. No one was overt enough to gape at them, but she felt the other guests’ attention on her and knew that most, if not all, had witnessed their interlude. They could not know the words they’d exchanged, and Sophie would not give them fodder for their gossip by weeping.
This was for the best. Surely it was.
Sophie could not reason her way into understanding how it was best for her, but Mr. Kingsley was acting honorably. He was remaining true to his commitment to Miss Caswell and his family. Whatever pain she suffered now was of her own making for allowing herself to grow attached to him, despite knowing his situation.
Rising to her feet, Sophie brushed off her skirts and retrieved her book. There was work to be before her trip tomorrow. Luggage to pack. Lies to fabricate. No doubt Mama would wish her to stay, and Amy would not be best pleased with her youngest sister arriving with little warning, but it was as good a reason as any to flee from Bristow. Besides, any malcontent could be assuaged with a box of chocolates and marzipans from Amy’s favorite shop.
In short order, it could all be settled, and the time was long past for her to disappear from Mr. Oliver Kingsley’s life.
Chapter 23
Crossing the grounds with quick steps, Oliver avoided the others; to one side of the pond was a thicket, which provided some solitude, and he turned his feet in that direction. He felt Miss Sophie’s eyes on him as he fled, and he sent a silent petition heavenward, praying his actions had done no serious harm to her. That his heart was bruised was his fault, but Miss Sophie did not deserve to suffer.
What a fool he was! In the midst of flagellating himself, Oliver did not notice the voices ahead until he was nearly atop the pair standing beside his intended hiding place.
“Get your hands off me!” said Father, his words a near growl.
“You Kingsley men are so coy,” Mrs. Banfield replied in a sultry purr.
With a few hurried steps, Oliver rounded the thicket and saw the lady draped around Father, who was attempting to untangle himself without hurting her. Mrs. Banfield pawed at the fellow, her lips coming close to his jaw, and he jerked away.
“Keep your distance from me and my son!”
Mrs. Banfield gave that ridiculous pout. “And what if he cannot stay away from me? Like his father, he has a weakness for Banfield ladies.”
Father’s face reddened, and he looked ready to cast her into the pond right then. “I rejected your propositions then, and I reject them now. Whatever shred of attraction I felt for you died a long time ago. Do you think you could ever compare to my wife? Now, desist this ridiculous flirtation and leave us be!”
Sucking in a breath that strained her décolletage, Mrs. Banfield turned away from Father with a toss of her head as though it mattered little to her, but there was a hardness in her gaze. And then she spied Oliver, and she arched a brow at him with a smile that held that ever-present invitation. His stomach turned.
“Leave!” Father barked.
A flash of pain pinched Mrs. Banfield’s features before she glided away, and Father turned a burning gaze to his son.
“Do you see what that family is?” he said through clenched teeth, jabbing a finger at her as she disappeared.
Oliver held up his hands, his brows pulled together. “I—”
“No matter how explicitly I deny her, I cannot spend even a few minutes alone without her haranguing me, desperate to add me to her list of conquests and hurt your mother in the process. And yet you are willingly casting aside a good lady in favor of a Banfield—”
“I am doing nothing of the sort!”
“Do you honestly think that anyone who has witnessed your behavior of late believes that?” Father’s voice rose with each word, but he caught himself, letting out a huff of a breath. He placed his hands on his hips, and he dropped his head.
Father stood there for several silent moments. The sound of chatter and laughter echoed in the distance, and when he spoke again, his voice barely carried over it. “I do not speak out of turn, Oliver. Your interest in the Banfield girl has been marked by every member of the party. You are toying with the affections of two ladies, and if you care for either of them, you must desist.”
